The Flame
by caseymac42
Summary: This story is based on Laughing Librarian's prompt...The quiet consumed him. He gazed into the flickering light and thought...


**The Flame**

The quiet consumed him. He gazed into the flickering light and thought about his father. At the suggestion of a Jewish friend of his, Mike took a page from Jewish tradition, and each year on the anniversary of his father's death, lit a special candle in remembrance of his father…of his best friend.

On this evening in mid-January, Mike was sitting in his favorite leather recliner, something that he had inherited after his father's untimely passing. The recliner had long been his father's favorite piece of furniture, as he too enjoyed relaxing in it after returning home from a busy shift on the job. Having lit the white candle, known as a yahrzeit candle in the Jewish faith, and placing it on top of his fireplace mantle, Mike sat in his den mesmerized by the flickering flame burning inside the small glass container. He continued to think about his father.

Marty Stoker was, at least in the blue eyes of his only child, an extraordinary man. A wonderful father, Marty had never NOT been there for Mike. A long-time veteran of the LAPD, Marty was a sergeant, who believed his place was out on the streets helping people… not behind a desk at the station. His wife Maxi had tried to convince her husband to take a desk job for years, but was always met with resistance. When Mike was born she tried even harder to convince him to take the desk job. "Don't do it for me," she always said, "do it for Mike…for your son." He still wouldn't listen.

When Mike was growing up, he idolized his father. There had been a time when the younger Stoker had wanted to be a police officer just like his father, but that changed one evening when his father had been shot in a shootout with an armed robbery suspect, when Mike had been just ten years old. Though seriously wounded, Marty had been lucky enough to have made a full recovery, and made it back to duty for another twelve years. Mike had decided that though being a policeman was a noble profession, he didn't ever want to face the prospect of going through the same situation as his father had. He would look for another line of work to get into when he was old enough.

Father and son were best friends. They did everything together…camping and fishing trips, sporting events, even trips to the local hardware store were made into a cherished time together. At the age of thirteen, after watching a program about firefighters, Mike had made up his mind…that's what he wanted to be. His parents were a little taken aback by their son's decision, as firefighting was really no safer than being a police officer, but they supported him. When the time came and Mike got accepted into the fire academy, nowhere did he have a bigger supporter than his father. When graduation time came around, Marty and Maxi Stoker were front and center, clapping loudly as their son graduated top of his class. And after putting in a few years on the job, Marty was the one who encouraged Mike to study and go for the promotion to engineer.

Mike had been an engineer for almost a year, when it happened… January 21st, about 8 PM. Marty had decided to work an overtime shift for a buddy of his, so he normally would not have been on duty at that time, or even been in the area where he had ended up. On a dark road, on the outskirts of Los Angeles, Marty had stopped to help a young woman who had a flat tire. Despite having his patrol car lights on, as well as flares out on the road, a drunk driver did not see either vehicle and slammed into them…both Marty and the young woman were seriously injured. As is often the case, the drunk driver was not seriously injured. A passer-by who had come upon the accident a few minutes later, used Marty's radio to call for help. As luck would have it, it was Mike's station who had been called to the accident scene.

As he had climbed down from the driver's seat in the cab, Mike's hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he quickly realized that it had been a police officer who had been involved in the accident. He vaguely remembered having had a conversation with his father the night before about a possible overtime shift. The scene was well lit from the bright lights of the fire engine, as well as two other police cars who had also converged on the scene. At a time before the paramedic program had gotten started, victims of bad car accidents, and other assorted scenarios were often out of luck, and met not such good outcomes. Approaching the two bodies that were lying on the ground, after having been tossed in the air like rag dolls, Mike was able to see the face of the downed officer. Sadly it was the same face of the man whom he had called dad for twenty-two years.

Kneeling down on the cold hard ground beside his father, Mike took Marty's hand in his and held it tightly, as if that action alone would prevent his father from sliding off into some dark abyss. He was able to feel the life draining from him. Looking down at his father's blood stained face he was barely able to make out what Marty was saying in a soft gasping voice… "I love you…keep making me proud." Hearing his father say those words…words that would prove to be his final ones, Mike nearly lost it. Still on duty, he knew that he had to keep it together, so he had somehow managed to do so.

At the hospital Marty Stoker was pronounced dead. The next few days had been a blur…the wake and the funeral…and then it was back to business as usual. Though for Mike, he knew his life was forever changed.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Mike wiped away a stray tear from his cheek. Lifting up his bottle of beer, he toasted his father. "I still miss you…think about you all the time. It's hard to believe that it's been ten years already. Some people say that it's gone fast. To me, it seems like a lifetime ago. That night you told me that you wanted me to continue to make you proud. I hope I have. It hasn't always been easy, but I have always tried to do the right thing. Anyway…this beer's for you, Dad. Love you…always will."

After taking a long pull from his bottle, Mike sat back in his recliner, and let the warm happy memories of his father, replace the ones from that tragic night ten years ago.

**The End**

**Author's Notes:** This is just to clarify a few things, due to confusion from some readers. In the Jewish faith, each year on the death anniversary of the deceased, a candle called a yahrzeit candle is lit to memorialize the person. There is no wake. The deceased is buried within 24 hours of death, unless it occurs on a Friday/Saturday, which is the Jewish Sabbath, and no funerals take place at this time. There is also a period of mourning time called "sitting Shiva", which lasts a week. All mirrors in the house are covered, and there are gatherings of family and friends. In this story it is never mentioned that Mike was Jewish...just that he took one of their traditions at the suggestion of a Jewish friend, and incorporated it into his own life as a way to help him deal with the loss of his father. Being Jewish, and having been to my fair share of Jewish funerals, I do have a sense of my religion. I hope this clears a few things up. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed the story.


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